


The Giving Tree

by MissCrazyWriter321



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Christmas Isn't Canon, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Future-fic, Gen, Mostly Just Flynn and Team Family, background garcy, bunker family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:46:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21801628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissCrazyWriter321/pseuds/MissCrazyWriter321
Summary: It starts with Lucy, as most things do.Or: Five times Flynn loaned someone a turtleneck, and one time he didn't have to.
Relationships: Garcia Flynn & Jessica Logan, Garcia Flynn & Jiya Marri, Garcia Flynn & Wyatt Logan, Garcia Flynn/Lucy Preston, Rufus Carlin & Garcia Flynn
Comments: 27
Kudos: 96





	The Giving Tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [newisalwaysbetter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/newisalwaysbetter/gifts), [Elisexyz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisexyz/gifts).



> Hello, everyone! I feel like it's been forever, even though I know I've posted a couple of things lately. I guess it's just because finals and things have had me busy. But classes are out for the semester, and I'm celebrating my return with fic! This was originally written for my May Mental Health Month whump collection, but it got a little long, so I decided to make it a separate thing. Also, I'm gifting these to Ely and Blue, who have been wonderfully patient and encouraging as I've fought through the semester. Thank you for your patience when I take forever to reply to stuff!!
> 
> Warning: Brief mentions of past Flynn/Emma, which, given the fact that she was lying to him and using him at the time, could be squicky for some people. 
> 
> Also, I couldn't resist the pun of the title. I have no apologies for it.
> 
> Disclaimer: Nothing but my ideas.

It starts with Lucy, as most things do. 

A mission leaves her soaked and shivering, curled in on herself. Even when they get back to the bunker, and she trades muddy silk for cotton sleepwear, her teeth will not stop chattering. 

It is an easy decision, taking the warmest turtleneck from his drawer and pressing it into her hands. “Here.” 

He doesn’t need it. Prison was much colder than this, and besides, the warmth of her smile more than makes up for any discomfort he might feel. There is little he can give her, nothing that will ever overcome the things he has done, but at least he can do this. 

-

It becomes a habit, her sneaking into his room after a particularly cold mission and stealing a turtleneck. Some she returns, but most vanish, only to reappear on her a few days later.

He does not mind. Every theft comes with hours of conversation, him coaxing smiles and even laughter from her with tales of times past. She always returns the favor, and her voice echoes in his head even after she leaves, painting vivid images of impulsive college students and a sister full of life. 

Jiya, however, is a surprise. 

She lingers in his doorway for several minutes before she finally steps inside, arms wrapped tightly around herself. 

“Something wrong?” He cannot think of why she might be visiting him, not unless some sort of emergency is unfolding. 

“No.” She swallows. “Yes.” A shaky laugh, and she glances down at his dresser. “I’m cold.”

Realization hits him, but she continues before he can speak.

“I know,” she clarifies, a little defensively, “Everyone is cold. But I can’t even sleep, and Lucy always looks so warm in your sweaters, and-”

“Alright.” He cuts her off gently. 

She blinks. “Are you… Sure?” 

While she is not Lucy, she has been perfectly kind to him since his arrival, which is more than he can say for some of them. Besides, she never asked for a war. From what he has gleaned, she hardly knew what she was getting into until it was far too late to back out. 

And she does look cold.

“I’m sure.” He stands, making his way to the small drawer and pulling out a dark gray turtleneck. It will swallow her, though not quite as badly as most of them swallow Lucy. Still, it should keep her warm. 

“Thank you.” She sighs, a soft, contented little noise, and snuggles into the shirt. 

His lips tug upward without his permission. “It’s no bother.” He settles back into his seat, fully expecting her to leave, content with her bounty. 

Instead, she hesitates, studying him for a moment. “Do you know how to play poker?” She asks finally.

“Of course I do,” he answers instinctively-and honestly, what kind of question is that?-but somehow, he’s still surprised when she tugs a deck of cards from her pocket.

“Everyone else here is awful at it,” she says, by way of explanation. “Especially Rufus.” 

This coaxes a laugh from him. “Color me shocked.” The man is more honest than any he’s ever met. How Rittenhouse ever selected him as a spy, Flynn cannot even fathom. Then, because he is not certain: “Are you asking-?”

“If you want.” She plops down on his floor, and after a startled second, he follows. A game of cards does sound nice. 

Company sounds even nicer.

“I’m not going to go easy on you,” she warns, and the whole world could not keep the smile off his face. 

“I’ll try not to take it personally.”

(She does, in fact, win. He does not feel like he has lost much.)

-

Wyatt doesn’t ask. 

Flynn doesn’t even notice he’s missing yet another turtleneck until he’s in the Lifeboat one day, getting ready to jump back in time once more, and he looks to the seat across from him.

Wyatt’s eyes widen when he realizes what Flynn is staring at, and he scowls, but fear is clear behind his eyes. “I was cold,” he snaps, crossing his arms over his chest.

For a long moment, Flynn is tempted. There are a thousand things he could say, laced with sarcasm or smugness, and he cannot deny that they would be satisfying. After all of Wyatt’s comments, his hostility from the moment Flynn joined this team, he has probably earned this.

And yet.

He tells himself it is not pity, or worse, compassion, that holds his tongue. It is simply the urge to prove Wyatt wrong, to show that he is perfectly capable of being a good teammate and a decent human being. With a dry smile, he shrugs. “Just wash it before you give it back.”

Wyatt blinks once, slowly. “What?”

“Well, I’m not doing your laundry for you, Wyatt.” He rolls his eyes, pulling his seatbelt into place with a click. “If you want to borrow my stuff, wash it.” 

Rufus and Lucy watch, amusement dancing in their eyes, but neither of them speak. 

He almost feels sorry for Wyatt. The man is clearly expecting some sort of trick or trap, watching Flynn carefully.

“You never make Jiya or Lucy wash them,” Wyatt insists, but he doesn’t sound quite steady. He’s looking for the familiar ground of fighting, but Flynn isn’t about to give it to him. Not when this is so much more fun.

“They never give them back,” he answers easily. “I’ve been meaning to talk to them about that.” 

“Hey!” Lucy cuts in, and the look on her face is probably meant to be a glare, but she’s barely holding back laughter. “Sometimes I give them back.” At his skeptical look, she insists, “I do! I gave back the-wait, no, I have that one. But there was the-nope-” 

As she rambles on, he glances back at Wyatt, and gives him a single nod. After a shaky moment, Wyatt returns it. 

-

It doesn’t take Rufus long to join in the fun, although Flynn isn’t quite sure he’s as cold as he is wanting to be included. If everyone else is stealing Flynn’s sweaters, he wants in.

At the very least, Flynn muses, he has the decency to ask.

“Hey.” 

He doesn’t bother knocking, and Flynn considers protesting, but honestly, it’s too much effort. “Yes?”

“You, uh…” Rufus seems a little unsure of how to phrase whatever’s on his mind. “You like me more than Wyatt, right?” 

All gears in Flynn’s mind grind to a sudden halt. He blinks a few times, trying to retrace the events of the day and make sense of the question, but comes up short. Okay, he’ll take it at face value.

“Obviously.” 

“Good.” Rufus smiles slightly. “And then there was that whole thing where you got me shot, right? Not that I’m going to hold that over your head or anything,” He hurriedly clarifies, before Flynn can even process that, “Different sides and everything. Fine. But you did get me shot, and you do like me-wow, that’s a weird set of sentences-” 

“Rufus.” He isn’t sure whether to be amused or annoyed. “What do you want?”

After a moment of hesitation, Rufus glances down at the small drawer. 

Flynn scoffs, realization hitting him. “Really?”

“It’s cold down here,” Rufus protests. “And besides, you let Wyatt wear them. And Jiya. And-”

“Okay.” 

Rufus pauses. “What?”

“Okay.” It’s true, after all; he does owe him. (And if he’s honest, it’s also true that he likes the guy. Rufus is one of the bravest men he’s ever known, and one of the few decent ones. Part of him hopes that they could be proper friends one day, but the ghost of Anthony hangs between them, a constant reminder of the things Flynn has done.) “Take your pick.” 

A startled second passes, before Rufus nods. “Thanks, man. I really appreciate it.” 

Unsure of how to handle that level of sincerity, he does the only thing he knows: deflection. “Don’t go getting sappy on me now.”

Surprisingly, Rufus just laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He turns away, digging through the drawer, and emerges with a yellow turtleneck. Once, it was bright and vivid, but wear and time has faded it to nearly white. “This one okay?”

“Fine.” Flynn waves a hand dismissively. “Just-” 

“Wash it and get it back to you. I know.” 

It might be a naive request; Wyatt still hasn’t returned the one he took, and Flynn is pretty sure he has taken another one. Worth a try, at least. 

He leans back against his pillows, waiting for Rufus to leave him with his thoughts, but the young man seems to be in no hurry.

“You know you can come hang out with us, right?” Rufus frowns down at him. “You don’t have to stay locked in your room all the time like an emo teenager.” He pauses, considering. Then- “Have you ever considered wearing eyeliner?” 

Wow, there’s a lot to unpack there. 

“No,” he answers slowly, starting with the last and easiest question. “No eyeliner. And I don’t stay in here all the time.”

“Oh yeah?” Rufus raises an eyebrow. “When’s the last time you’ve come out for anything besides food or a mission?”

Part of him misses the days when Rufus was scared of him.

“Last night,” he answers flatly. 

This seems to throw Rufus for a moment, but finally, he shakes his head. “Showers don’t count.”

Well, there goes that.

“Rufus-”

“Look, I’m just saying.” Rufus holds up his hands in a show of innocence. “We’re about to start a Star Wars marathon, and there’s plenty of popcorn. Why don’t you come with?” 

If anyone asks, he goes for the popcorn. 

-

Jessica defects.

It isn't surprising; she's obviously still in love with Wyatt, and with a baby on the way, she's been forced to reevaluate her life choices. Apparently, she has decided that staying with an organization that has no qualms killing children is not a good idea. 

Unfortunately for her, she makes this choice in the middle of a desert. She isn't exactly dressed for the bunker. 

He tries not to feel sorry for her. She kidnapped Jiya, after all. And she spent most of her life working for the people who killed Iris and Lorena. She deserves to suffer. But there's something about seeing such a fearsome woman curled up on the couch, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, shivering quietly, that gets to him. She looks impossibly young and lost, and the twisting in his chest is too great to ignore.

Agent Christopher is going shopping in the morning, and will hopefully bring things that fit Jessica. Until then, Jessica's options for warmth are limited. 

"Here." He drops the shirt on her lap without ceremony. "It'll help." 

She stares up at him suspiciously, but when he doesn't yank it back, she grabs it, pulling it over her head. Instantly, some of the tension drains from her, and she snuggles into it. 

"Thank you." 

He turns to walk away, because this is not a conversation he has any intention of continuing, when she speaks again, voice shaking. 

"They were my family." She sounds like she's about to cry, and in spite of his best efforts, he isn't completely heartless, so he turns back to face her. "How was I supposed to know-they raised me, they told me they loved me, I thought-" 

“That’s what Rittenhouse does.” He can still feel Emma’s arms around him, her lips on his. “They lie to you. Make you feel safe. But they don’t care about people. All they care about is their agenda.” 

“And you?” There’s no accusation in her eyes. Only curiosity, and more than a little exhaustion. “Do you care about people?”

His instinct is to lash out for her even daring to compare him to those monsters, but he swallows it down. “Rittenhouse killed the people I cared about.” 

It’s not as simple as that, of course. He can easily admit, at least to himself, how much Lucy has come to mean to him. Rufus and Jiya, too, hold a special place in his heart. Mason is something of a kindred spirit. (Wyatt and Agent Christopher, he cannot bring himself to hate any longer. That is almost as terrifying as his dedication to Lucy.)

Jessica, however, has not yet earned that knowledge.

Nonetheless, she watches him a little too long, and she does not seem convinced. She looks down at the sweater pointedly, tracing a finger along the sleeve, before giving him a look that is far too knowing.

“Don’t push your luck,” he snaps, before she can say anything. Then, because he can almost hear Lucy’s voice in his mind, he adds, “Get some rest. It’s late.” 

With that, he walks away, retreating to the safety and solitude of his room.

-

He’s been expecting it for awhile. 

Months have gone by like this, with his teammates constantly stealing his clothes and never returning them. Only Mason and Agent Christopher have opted out, though he notices that they now have turtlenecks of their own.

Jessica only has two, which she swaps out almost daily.

Rufus and Wyatt each have three, and Jiya has four. 

Lucy, of course, is the worst offender: He has lost count of how many she has squirreled away in her drawer. Every time Agent Christopher buys him more, they disappear within a few days.

So really, it’s inevitable. 

One day, when the icy chill of the bunker is curling around him, threatening to suffocate him, he opens his small drawer, and frowns. All of his sweaters are gone. 

It’s fine. Really. He’s experienced far worse during his times at war, after all, and it’s not as if he minds helping the team. Still, he ambles into the kitchen for a cup of tea. Maybe he can warm himself from the inside out. 

The others are huddled together on and around the couch, watching some superhero movie he doesn't recognize. He tries to ignore them. All he needs is tea. He'll be fine. 

Fine. 

“You know,” Jess pipes up, “There’s room for one more.”

There really isn’t. Already, Jiya is half-squished between Rufus and Lucy, and Mason is definitely sitting on somebody, although Flynn is not sure who. Still, it’s tempting. They do look warm, after all, and… Something else. Something he hasn’t had in a very long time. The name escapes him, distant and unbelievable, but he recognizes the feeling to his bones. 

He tells himself that it is Lucy’s agreement that convinces him. (The fact that he is already moving toward them when she speaks is irrelevant.) 

It’s a tight fit, squeezing into the very corner of the couch, his legs stretched across Rufus, Jiya, and Lucy. They shuffle, automatically adjusting to him, and warmth surrounds him. 

“Here.” Lucy tosses something at him, and he hardly catches it in time. “I had Agent Christopher pick this up for you.”

It is, of course, a turtleneck, dark gray and impossibly soft. He pulls it on, then tries to focus on the movie, even as his attention keeps drifting to those around him. As for the sweater, he doubts he will get to keep it for long, but that is fine. He does not mind sharing. 

Not with his family. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you enjoyed!! As much as I love writing Garcy, found family fic has such a special place in my heart.


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